


the perks of estrangement

by MavenMorozova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Forgiveness, Friendly Dean, Gay Panic, Loneliness, Lonely Ron, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Pining, Stressed Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenMorozova/pseuds/MavenMorozova
Summary: After the Goblet of Fire spews Harry's name from its depths, Ron's determined not to speak to him in anger and jealousy. Which, of course, leaves him time to make other friends...and perhaps more than that.
Relationships: Dean Thomas & Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas & Seamus Finnigan & Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan & Dean Thomas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> RAREPAIRS TIMEEEE!!  
> written for HP @rarehpbingo's fest on tumblr (my bingo card prompt: ron/dean, which i asked for, thank you so much ashely!)  
> also written for @hogwartsonline's June Dialogue OWLS: "what the fuck are you doing?"  
> enjoy!

Ron couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more helpless or alone. He was simply so frustrated, and of course, he knew that his feelings were unwarranted, but he pushed that thought down where he could not find it.

When the Goblet of Fire had spewed Harry’s name from itself in a burst of sparks, Ron had felt everything he’d experienced in all fourteen years of his life spill over. It was too much—what Harry got, at least, and never enough for Ron.

And now, they weren’t even speaking. Ron knew that it was his fault, and yet he didn’t truly care. He huffed to himself as he trekked that long path back up to the Hogwarts castle, relishing the crisp autumn air. It was one thing, at least, that Ron could be thankful for.

“Hey! Wait up!” came a voice from behind him. Ron turned to see Dean Thomas running towards him, cloak flapping in the wind. “Ron!”

Ron waited for Dean to catch up to him, a frown clear on his face. “What is it?” he asked once they were standing next to each other, Dean breathing heavily from his sprint up the hill. “I’m just heading up to dinner.” He had, in fact, just been visiting Hagrid.

“I just wanted to walk with you,” admitted Dean, falling into step next to him. Ron nodded stiffly, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be actually irritated. In reality, he was thankful for the company, grateful to have someone to talk to that wasn’t Hermione. Because while Hermione was a great friend, she found fourteenth-century witch burnings much more of a fascinating subject than the new recruit to the Chudley Cannons.

So Dean’s presence at Ron’s side was a welcome one.

“How are you?” Dean asked, with what seemed to be a cautious tone in his voice. Ron shrugged, then decided he at least should  _ act  _ amiably as to not discourage Dean. “I’m fine,” he replied in what he hoped was a pleasant tone.

Dean only raised an eyebrow at him, and Ron sighed. “Lonely,” he admitted as they reached the Great Hall’s doors. “I’m so mad about this bloody tournament. And here I thought I’d be excited,  _ grateful  _ even. I  _ was  _ excited.”

“I get it,” Dean said slowly. Ron saw a hint of a rueful smile creep up his face, and he in turn frowned. They found a spot at the Gryffindor table, Ron purposefully avoiding the area where Harry and Hermione sat. Beside them, Seamus took a seat, fist-bumping Dean and nodding at Ron.

Dean turned to look at Ron, his expression solemn. “You got to understand,” he began, “that we feel just as you do right now.”

“We?” Ron asked.

“Me and Seamus,” Dean clarified, spooning himself a bowl of lentil soup. “And Neville’s got it even worse.”

Ron shook his head. “I...don’t follow.”

Dean let out a breath sharply through his nose, and Ron found himself hoping that he hadn’t annoyed him. It was a strange, unfamiliar thought, indeed.

“See,” explained Dean, “Harry gets all the attention, and you feel overshadowed, right?”

Ron nodded.

“I—and Seamus, of course—we feel that too—about you and Harry, I mean.”

_ Oh _ . Ron understood now, and he immediately felt a wave of shame wash over him at his ignorance. “Poor Neville,” he lamented quietly, glancing over to a few seats down where their classmate was obliviously taking a bite out of a bread roll. No one in Hogwarts, even the fourth-year Gryffindor boys, were free from taunting Neville or laughing at him on occasion. It all made Ron feel decidedly worse. He pierced his fork into a chicken wing on the platter and plopped it onto his plate dejectedly.

“The point of that wasn’t to make you feel bad,” Dean hastily amended. “I just wanted to let you know...Seamus and I get you.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron replied through a mouthful of chicken. He swallowed painfully. “Really.”

It was the first time since Harry’s name had flown from the Goblet that Ron didn’t stew silently at a meal, watching Harry and Hermione with undeserved jealousy. He found himself truly enjoying Seamus and Dean’s company, and the two of them looped him into their fold before he’d even noticed. He wasn’t yet ready to confront Harry, and this gave him an excuse not to.

He told himself that it had only been a few days, and he was sure that Hermione was going to help Harry with that First Task in any way that she could. Ron, in fact, had a way to help as well. Or at least—he thought. Hagrid had just told him about how Charlie was here at Hogwarts, bringing with him four dragons, and of course, he’d known Harry would want to know about them. Ron agreed, and so he somehow needed to pass this message along to Harry without speaking to him, because Ron certainly was not ready for that yet.

When they’d finished eating, Ron saw that Dean was waiting expectantly for him, and by extension, Seamus. He smiled and followed them from the Great Hall, chuckling at Seamus’s jokes. Ron loved Dean’s easy grin, the way his eyes lit up when he noticed something or realised something he hadn’t before. It surprised Ron, how much he hadn't known of the boys who shared his dormitory, or rather, his friends. But he was glad to learn.

Later that evening, he spotted Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, poring over her Charms essay. “Hey, Hermione,” he said to her, tapping her on the shoulder.

She jumped at his touch, sending the ink bottle she had just dipped her quill in flying onto the plush rug at her feet.

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione shouted, causing Dean, Seamus, and a few first-years to turn their heads. Ron saw Dean smirk slightly, and his face heated miserably. He also noticed in that moment that Harry was missing, and as if Hermione was an accomplished Legilimens, she said, “Harry’s gone to the boy’s dormitory, of course.”  _ Of course, _ meaning,  _ He doesn’t want to see you, and I can understand why _ . Ron again felt ashamed at the notion, but he didn’t care to see Harry either.

Clicking her tongue, Hermione stooped to pick up her overturned ink bottle, cursing when she saw the stain it had left on the rug there. “I’ll get you one of mine,” Ron told her as she pointed her wand at it, but Hermione shook her head. “You know what you can do instead,” she said, “is apologize to Harry. I’m sick of this nonsense.”

“It’s only been three days, Hermione,” Ron said exasperatedly. “And to me, it’s felt like three years,” she retorted. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to write an essay.”

“That essay’s not due for weeks!” Ron nearly cried. “Anyways, I just was wondering if you could tell Harry—”

“Oh, tell him yourself, Ron! For goodness sake, I’m not an owl!”

“Please!” begged Ron. He’d hoped that this would go a lot more quickly. “It’s about the Triwizard—”

“Like I said—” Hermione began again, pulling out a new ink bottle.

“—THE FIRST TASK! It’s dragons!”

Hermione quieted at once, pursing her lips firmly. At this point, however, the common room was already hushed, listening in, and Ron could tell that they were trying to appear not to be doing so. He shot Hermione an annoyed glare, and she glared back, but neither of them in malice.

“Just...tell him that—er—Hagrid wants to show him something,” Ron said very quietly. “Please?” he added again. Hermione closed her eyes and finally nodded. “Now leave me alone.”

Ron did just that, going over to lay a game of Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus. Dean winked at Ron as he sat beside them, sending an odd shiver through him. They played over and over until very few Gryffindors were left in the common room. “I figured you’d want some space from—er—the dorm,” Dean said to Ron as they finally put the cards away and headed up the spiral stone steps.

“Yeah, I did,” Ron replied in a low murmur as they stepped into the boys’ dormitory. Harry was long fast asleep, his blankets pulled over his head in an angry stance. “Means a lot.”

“You gotta have more friends than just your own little squad, mate,” Seamus said, pulling off his socks. “Can’t have shit throw you off your game!”

He was right. Ron had really only ever spent time around his own family or with Harry ad Hermione. He nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face. Seamus grinned, but when Ron looked over at Dean, he saw that his friend looked apprehensive, worried, even. His brow was scrunched tightly and his dark eyes held a faraway look. He must have noticed that Ron was staring, for he immediately smiled—painfully, from what it seemed—and flopped gracelessly onto his four-poster.

Ron lay down as well, exhaustion coming over him like a wave. He fell asleep feeling, despite everything, a familiar sense of loneliness.


	2. Together

Ron spent the next few weeks with Dean and Seamus, sitting with them in class, laughing with them on the grounds, and eating with them at meals. He also did manage, of course, to spend a due amount of time with Hermione, whose solo companionship was becoming more and more bearable.

He noticed, uncomfortably, that the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament crept ever closer, and he was sure that Harry had this thought dwelling on his mind constantly as well. He sincerely hoped that Harry had a plan to get past the dragon when the time came. And yet—he had no desire to discuss it with him.

Well...that was a lie. He did  _ desire  _ to, but he just couldn’t let his pride go.

But he did truly enjoy Dean and Seamus’s company, especially Dean’s. Ron couldn’t explain it, and he felt a nervous tinge about it, but he felt—an attraction to Dean? Was that what this was? He was utterly lost, and therefore dismissive of anything that was more than status quo.

He’d seen a few times, over the past few weeks, that Dean’s eyes stayed on him for longer than was necessary, and their hands would something brush, sending a jolt through Ron as though he’d just been Stunned.

He also noticed, for the first time, how pleasing to look at Dean was; Ron’s eyes often traced the line that made its way down from Dean’s jaw to his shoulder, a line that had become much more defined since their first year at Hogwarts. He noticed, too, the handsome gleam that caught Dean’s dark eyes and marveled at the strange tightly-curled hair that covered Dean’s head. Or at least...strange to him, but nevertheless wonderful.

Whatever it was that Ron felt for Dean, however, he did not want to name it for fear of having it slip away. Instead, he spent his free moments between long looks and accidental caresses. And whatever it was that Dean felt for Ron, he seemed to be keeping it hidden as well. That is—if there were any actual feelings in the first place.

Except, of course, for the moments when Ron was sure he was about to say something. Dean’s mouth would open slightly, brows scrunched, head tilted to one side, Then, a moment later, he would appear normal again, all trace of a confession gone. And Ron felt similar moments come upon himself, too, but he never could figure at how to express himself. Would he, though, if he could?

And yet, each of these moments, the hope that preceded and the disappointment that followed...they all were infused with a sort of fire, or flare...something. Ron felt himself lifted on wings with each conversation, and his stomach would only settle when Dean was far, far away.

Which meant that Ron’s stomach was _always_ unsettled.

The day of the First Task, Ron woke before sunrise, burying himself in a quidditch magazine, too nervous to go back to sleep and too embarrassed to admit it. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry rose from the bed next to him, face pale in the very early light.

They did not spare each other a glance.

Ron watched Harry leave the dormitory after done getting dressed, and he gave a mournful sigh. Next to him, Dean stirred and woke, the other boys following withing the next few minutes. Dean gave a great yawn and grinned at Ron. “Today’s the day, huh?” Although it wasn’t really a question, of course.

Ron nodded, face pensive. Dean walked the few short steps to his four-poster, sinking onto it beside him. He picked up the quidditch magazine with his lips curves upwards, flipping through it casually. “Ron?”

“Yes?”

Dean’s eyes were suddenly too deep, his lips far too close. Ron felt himself inching backward slowly, unconsciously, without his brain even giving the order to do so. “What the fuck are you doing?” Ron whispered, the barest wisp of a question, barely even audible.

He blinked, and instantly Dean was back where he was, his finger folded into the magazine, countenance betraying an expression of confusion. Ron himself was sidled against the far bedpost, shaking.

“Are—you alright, Ron?” Dean asked slowly, setting aside the quidditch magazine and leaning forward. “You went all— _Trelawny_ —for a second!”

“I made a prophesy?” Ron asked, eyes widening. Dean laughed at that, and Ron had a sudden urge to blurt out another stupid question, solely to hear Dean make that sound again.

“’Course not,” Dean replied, still grinning. “You just...phased out, and your eyes had this faraway look. I dunno, mate.”

“Oh,” was all Ron could say, finding himself a tad disappointed. “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a sigh, flopping onto his back. His expression suddenly turned suspicious, eyes narrowed, chin jutting forward. “Why? What did you imagine happing?” he asked with infinite slowness.

“N-nothing,” replied Ron immediately, his voice wavering in his assertion. “That’s why I asked you.”

“Right. Of course.”

Something in Ron’s chest sank as Dean launched himself from the four-poster, leaving the quidditch magazine to fall into Ron’s lap. “We should head down to the Great Hall,” Dean said after a moment.

Ron nodded, standing hazily and clapping Dean on the back. “Yes, let’s go.” He put on his shoes quickly and they made their way down the spiral stairs.

“Five galleons says that Harry will beat all the other champions,” Dean said, voice filled with excitement. “Yeah? Or—” he faltered, words stumbling to a halt. “Sorry, I know you two aren’t—”

“It’s fine,” Ron said shortly. He was still heavily disappointed by the incident up in the boys’ dormitory, and he thought he knew why. The idea scared him, if Ron was being honest. “Anyway, I’m not gonna bet on it. But I agree.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Ron replied firmly. He smiled wanly at Dean, who returned it without hesitation.

They found Seamus at the Gryffindor table heartily stuffing himself with bittered toast topped with eggs. Ron joined him, adding breakfast potatoes to his plate; he was always more hungry when he was nervous. Dean, however, did not eat much at all, simply sipping his pumpkin juice. Ron noticed that he kept glancing back at him as if there was something he’d forgotten to say.

They walked out into the quidditch stands with the rest of the Gryffindors. The group whooped and cheered as it went, but Ron only felt a sense of nausea roiling around in his stomach. The three tasks were known to be dangerous, and if Harry died, Ron would watch knowing his last words to his best friend had been full of jealously and resentment. It was not a pleasant thought.

As if Dean was a trained Legilimens (oddly and purely coincidentally similar to Ron’s thoughts about Hermione a few weeks before), he placed a comforting hand on Ron’s back. It stayed there as they made their way to where they would sit. The quidditch pitch had been repurposed into a great stone pit, and there lay an ominous metal chain connected to one end. A dip in the landscape revealed four speckled eggs the size of watermelons, and one slightly larger made of what appeared the be gold. The dragons, apparently, hadn’t been released yet.

Ron sat impatiently beside Dean, Seamus on Dean’s other side, and Hermione on Ron’s. Neville was with them as well, his forehead pale and perspiring despite the gloom and the chill.

Ron felt a hand grab his tightly, dark skin enveloping his pale, freckled fingers. He looked up to see Dean staring intently at him, the visage and expression so familiar. He tried to smile to express his thankfulness—well, really, more than that—but he could only grimace a little. He assumed though, that Dean understood; his friend blinked slowly with a slight nod. As he did this, his hand squeezed Ron’s, and in a sudden movement, before his chance could slip away, Ron leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s.

The other boy stiffened in surprise, but after a moment, he melted in return, though the kiss remained chaste. Dean’s lips were soft and plush, much more so than Ron’s, and as Ron reached up to touch his face, he found it smooth and inviting as well.

When he finally pulled away, he saw that Dean’s eyes were wider than Ron had ever seen them, and his mouth hung agape in a little circle. Ron chuckled, his own surprise shifting into glee. With a shaky breath, Dean joined him, and beside them, Hermione gave an amused eye roll. Neville and Seamus looked quite taken aback.

A bell sounded just then, and the five of them quickly turned to where the judges sat slightly elevated above the rest of the stands. The task had begun.

Three out of four champions came and went, and Ron felt Harry’s absence keenly—and guiltily. The thought of his best friend potentially dying kept playing through his mind like a broken Time-Turner, making him sick to the stomach. He was, in this moment, as Harry walked into the arena, perhaps on stuttering, treacherous feet, supremely grateful for the presence of Dean and Hermione beside him. All his friends, save Harry, of course...and whatever Dean was.

When it was all over, Ron let out a very long breath and slumped against Dean, whose hand ran through his overgrown red hair. He didn’t mind; how could he?

Minuted passed, and before Ron knew it, he was face-to-face with Harry. Everything, every _ one _ else around them faded into indifference as they took in each other. To Ron, even  _ Dean  _ was insignificant in this moment. Nothing could compare to his closest companion, his loyal friend through everything. And Ron? He felt like he didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t been loyal since Harry’s name emerged from the Goblet, it seemed.

He took a deep breath. “Whoever put your name in the Goblet—I reckon they’re really trying to do you in, mate,” Ron said abruptly, breaking the awkward silence.

“Finally caught on, have you?” Harry asked coldly. They stared at each other for a long moment, which was surely less than a minute, but felt like many hours.

And then there were apologies and regret, and Ron felt so, so guilty, and like an absolutely shitty friend. He told Harry so. But at least it was all over.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered to Harry in the common room that evening. They were hunched over a game of wizard’s chess, and Harry munched on a Chocolate Frog as Ron poured a few Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into his hand. He saw the light of relief and joy in Harry’s eyes reflected in the firelight as well, and the bashful smile of Dean in the corner where his now-boyfriend held a football magazine in his hands.  _ Fitting _ . “I have so much to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading this lil fic and I hoped you liked it! don't forget kudos and comment!!! (insert emoji of Pepe holding knife)  
> I'm just kidding, I'm not _that_ starved.but it's always appreciated. stay safe, everyone. remember that we're still in a pandemic and that **Black Lives Still Do Matter Even if the Trendiness is Dying, Because BLM is Not a Trend. It's a Movement.**

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! read on for chapter 2! and don't forget to leave me a comment because i need validation>:(


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